


it had been a while since the last time.

by thewaterflowing



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaterflowing/pseuds/thewaterflowing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>takes place in 5x07, my weird (and painful ...) headcanon according to which Mickey didn't seek comfort in alcohol, but in getting into a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it had been a while since the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> (I'm terrible at finding titles ...). you might find a few English mistakes, so, sorry about that, and I hope you'll like it anyway :)

He had to look away. He couldn’t keep staring, but mostly: he didn’t want nor need to see Ian Gallagher – the boy who had been his rock for so long – behave the way he was. Mickey had for a couple of years been used to relying on Ian because he seemed, and was, strong, proud, and he didn’t take anyone’s shit. But seeing him in the psych ward, not paying any attention to what Fiona was saying, looking right through Mickey as if he wasn’t even there … It was way more than what the Milkovich could take. He had never asked for it, for Ian to be broken, unwilling to be fixed, he had not wanted to be sucked into this. Those feelings, this aching pain all over his own body … He had never wanted this and had never expected to feel this way about anyone, ever.

 

“ _You okay?”_ The voice seemed to be coming from another world, as if he was falling into another dimension, drowning, unable to remember how to swim.

“ _Yeah_ ”, _shit can you be any less convincing?_

“ _It’s just the sedation_.” Fiona could try all she wanted to reassure him, it wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t sure any reassurance would ever work on him as long as Ian wasn’t okay. Perhaps he also needed to be sedated, he was shaking like a leaf and on the verge of fucking crying. His hands were wet from stressing and worrying too much. He took a look at his knuckles; it had been a long time since they had encountered anyone’s jaw …

“ _I’m gonna … I’m gonna go_.” He barely saw Fiona nod as he was leaving, rushing to the exit as fast as he could. As he was shaking, he almost didn’t manage to open the door on his first try. He couldn’t stand the sight of these yellow shirts or the dull colours of the psych ward anymore. He had to get out.

Walking out, he gave his visitor’s badge back to the lady who kind of just stared at him with a sorry look. He forced himself not to flip her off; he just looked away once again. He was getting good at avoiding eye contact.

 

Once outside, he took a deep breath but the smell of the place was still haunting him. He had smelled it everywhere inside, even on Ian. He could remember how cold Ian’s body felt against his. He shivered.

He lit a cigarette hoping it would calm him down, so when it didn’t, he lit another. At least, the nauseous smell was gone.

 

Iggy had agreed to drop him off but he was now gone, probably thinking Mickey would stay for more than just a couple of minutes with his boyfriend. _Boyfriend_ … A term that used to make Mickey cringe or better yet, beat the shit out of whoever would pronounce it. While now, he was no longer so afraid to use it. Because it was just a word, and Mickey and Ian were more than just a word … They were a whole completely different fucking universe.

 

He stood there, smoking cigarettes after cigarettes until he noticed he would soon run out of them, and that it was getting late. He didn’t know what to do or where to go. He knew he didn’t want to go back to the Milkoviches house though; he wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of Svetlana putting Ian’s stuff in a bag. Besides, that house didn’t really feel like home when Ian wasn’t there to enlighten it. Home is where the heart is, they say, right?

 

There were two things Mickey could need right now. The first one, he couldn’t have it as it was locked in the psych ward, acting weird and numb. The other one, he knew he could find it in pretty much any bar, except perhaps for the Alibi where he knew Veronica would try to stop him, and probably succeed.

 

With yet another cigarette burning between his fingers, he started to head back to his house. He wanted to go to a bar close to his place to be able to make it back without having to pay for a fucking cab.

He eventually found a bar, not too close, but not too far either. He took a look around, it seemed like there was no one he knew. He was a stranger there. Some people who were hanging by the pool gave him a suspicious look.

“ _The fuck are you lookin’ at?_ ” He asked, flipping them off.

They turned their back, disdainfully. Mickey then knew he had found what he needed. They were a group of five, probably in their mid-twenties, they had apparently nothing better to do than drink beer and talk way too loudly. They were all much bigger than Mickey, probably just as tall as Kev.

 

But first what he needed was to gather some courage. He ordered shots of vodka. After a while, he lost count. He was kind of drunk, but he was able to handle alcohol. As he expected, the feeling of hopelessness regarding the whole Ian situation wouldn’t go away, no matter how drunk he would get.

 

He then decided it was time. He stood up and went towards the group by the pool. He taped the shoulder of the bigger guy and with no warning whatsoever, he punched him in the face, and kept going until one of the other men started to hit him.

They were five, he was alone, a stranger in an unknown bar where the other guys had obviously their habits. No one would come and help him. As he kept defending himself by throwing his **FUCK U-UP** knuckles at all the faces he had in front of him, he was forgetting. The adrenaline, the blood pumping though his veins were making him forget about Ian and the way his redhead looked at him as if he was a complete stranger, he was forgetting the pain inside his body, in his chest as he was being beaten up, getting bruises, real ones, visible ones. He felt weirdly alive as he was left almost unconscious on the floor. Surprisingly, his face wasn’t so damaged, but the rest of his body was hurting as if he had been run over by a car.

After a few minutes, the bartender finally came to him, helping him to stand. “ _Don’t ever come back here, you fucked-up psycho_.”

 

Mickey barely remembered coming back at his house. Did he walk or take a cab? He couldn’t tell. He was now lying on the floor of the kitchen, bruised and damaged in every possible way, holding on tight to Ian’s uniform jacket, tears he couldn’t control rolling down on his cheeks.


End file.
